Disintegrate
by InTheCompanyOfDragons
Summary: Second Story in my Fade Series. With Jessica gone, Sam is beginning to feel a familiar darkness. But things are different now, and he doesn't think his family can help him. Is he right? Or can the love of the Winchester's save their youngest again.
1. Chapter 1

Disintegrate

Dean was driving down a quiet country road, and watching out of the corner of his eye, as Sam pretended to sleep against the passenger side door. After the Wendigo case Sam's anger seemed to have fizzled out, and if it was anyone else Dean would have been happy to see some semblance of control return to the hunter, but Sam was different.

After the anger had faded away it had been replaced by a stifling silence that seemed to be swallowing up his younger brother, and Dean was unsure of how to proceed. Sam wouldn't cry, wouldn't talk about Jessica, or the life he had lost. His only goal was finding John Winchester and figuring out what had done this.

But then again, maybe Dean wasn't handling any of this the best way either. Four years was a long time, and he was realizing that he needed to relearn how to be a big brother to the boy in front of him. No, he wasn't a boy anymore, he was a man, definitely not the same kid that had left for Stanford four years prior.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered across the darkness. "You need to sleep sometime."

Dean heard a deep sigh and saw Sam sit up and turn towards him.

"I can't…" Sam said.

"Yeah well, we don't have a case lined up, so I am gonna pull over in the next town and find us a motel. The bags under your eyes look like they could carry the Impala's whole arsenal."

Sam rubbed subconsciously at his eyes and leaned back against the seat.

"Stopping isn't gonna help."

"Gotta be easier for your lanky ass legs to sleep stretched out in a bed, instead of being squished in the passenger seat…"

Sam laughed sadly and looked at the side of Dean's head.

"Yeah, can't sleep in the Impala cause I am a giant, can't sleep in motels because I can't keep staring up at those white fucking ceilings…"

Dean's blood ran a little cold, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"Sammy… I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine Dean, not your fault everything reminds me of her and death."

The ride was silent for a few minutes, neither brother sure where to go from there, but as they pulled into the motel parking lot, Dean found something to say.

"Coconut and Lavender." Dean said.

Sam looked at him with a confused frown on his face.

"What?"

"Mom used coconut shampoo and she wore lavender perfume. She always sung completely off key versions of Beatles songs, and I remember nights when it would rain, and she would force me and Dad to go outside and run around in the streets… those are the good memories."

Sam watched the small smirk make his way over his brother's face, and it almost overpowered the sadness in his eyes of thinking of his Mom.

"You never told me any of that before."

Dean shrugged uncomfortably.

"I guess I never really thought about telling you before. Look, sometimes when what happened gets stuck in my head, I try and think of the good things that happened with her. It doesn't make it go away but… it makes the pain bearable. Sometimes I need to remind myself that good things did happen. You get me?"

Sam's eyes were shining with unshed tears, and he was overwhelmed with memories of Jessica's laugh, and the smell of her blonde hair.

"Yeah I get it Dean."

"Good, lets go get a room, I'll even let you have first shower."

The two Winchester brothers made their way into the motel room, and Sam headed into the bathroom with his toiletry bag. He sighed and for the first time in days, he looked in the mirror and hated what he saw.

He didn't see the Stanford University student that he had been; he saw what was left of a sad seventeen year old boy. Sam slid down against the wall and took in some deep panicky breaths, and did what he had yet to do in the wake of Jessica's death. He cried, and cried and he couldn't stop. He pulled on the roots of his hair and began to rock back and forth. Sam knew in his subconscious mind what was happening to him.

A familiar darkness was falling down over him, a darkness he knew he couldn't stop on his own. And he didn't think he could ask anyone for help.

He was in pain. He was alone. And he didn't know how to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Dean was trying to give his brother space, but with every minute Sam was in the bathroom the older brother was getting more and more antsy. He couldn't help but think of Sam's suicide attempt, and the idea of finding Sam again, on the bathroom floor covered in blood, scared him to his very core.

It wasn't until he heard a soft steady banging that Dean finally decided enough was enough. He jiggled the handle and swore when he realized it was locked. They had a rule in the Winchester household; you did not lock the bathroom door.

"Sam, I am giving you five seconds to open this damn door, or I am opening it for you!" Dean threatened.

When he got no answer he took out his lock pick, and began to pick the lock. The motel door popped open quickly, and he made his way into the bathroom.

"Shit." Dean whispered making his way over to his brother.

A red stain was on the wall behind Sam's head, as he continued to pull his head forward by his hair, and then slamming it back into the wall. Dean ran over and pulled him forward by his wrists so he was braced against Dean's chest.

"Sammy, stop…"

Sam didn't fight the hold and Dean was in shock by the amount of damage that Sam could have done so quickly.

Sam tried to catch his breath, but just continued to heave in short panicked breaths.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Sam whispered.

"Jesus Christ, you have nothing to be sorry for, just breathe kid, c'mon."

Sam looked up at Dean, and pointed to his toiletry bag.

"Pills…" Sam whispered.

Dean frowned and went through the bag, pulling out a bottle of small blue pills and handed them to his brother. Sam put one under his tongue and leaned against the wall of the bathroom. After a few minutes Sam seemed to calm and he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He watched as Dean inspected the bottle.

"Sammy, what are these?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed and looked at his brother through tired eyes.

"Ativan, prescribed for anxiety… panic attacks…" Sam answered.

Dean sighed, and grabbed a towel off the counter, using it as a makeshift bandage for the back of Sam's head.

"You were supposed to be better at Stanford…"

Sam winced as Dean applied pressure to his head.

"I am better… I don't take it every day, only when I can't control it… when my head starts spinning. It won't happen again. I've got it under control."

Sam pinched harshly at the inside of his wrist, but Dean reached down to stop him.

"Look… I don't really care how you deal… as long as you don't do this again." Dean said flipping his arm over.

The scars were not as prominent as they had been when Sam left for college, but the pale white scar was raised and rough against the pad of his fingers.

"Don't touch them…" Sam said, pulling away and covering the scar with his sleeve.

"Look Dean, believe it or not, what is wrong in my head? Isn't something that can be fixed. I thought Stanford was the answer too. But turns out, the cure to the fucked up chemicals in my brain wasn't the California sun."

"Alright." Dean said. "Are you gonna warn me next time you start spinning? Cause you nearly gave yourself a fucking concussion. Pretty sure the maid aren't gonna be too happy about having blood smeared on the wall."

"It won't happen again…"

"You don't know that… I mean, fuck Sammy, I would understand if you needed some time, maybe even some… meds to deal with what has happened."

Sam glared at him.

"I didn't like being drugged up all the time when I was eighteen, what makes you think I want that now? Especially since we are hunting all the time, we can't afford for me to be to be all foggy and stoned all the time! I'm not crazy Dean, I'm just…"

"Emotionally unstable?" Dean snapped.

Sam looked hurt, and then he stood carefully.

"Fuck you Dean…" Sam said, walking out of the bathroom.

"Shit…" Dean said. "Sammy I didn't-"

"I'm going to bed Dean."

"Just let me look at your head?" Dean asked, grabbing for Sam's shoulder.

Sam snapped and pushed him off.

"Don't fucking touch me. I don't need your help."

Dean watched as Sam crawled into his bed. Sighing he took a seat on his own bed, watching his little brother sleep.

"I'm sorry Sammy…" Dean whispered.

The two brothers lay in the darkness, neither of them sleeping, and as the sun began to rise, they hoped for better days.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Dean chose not to say anything about what had happened that night in the bathroom. He tossed the Tylenol to Sam and left it at that. But that did not mean he had forgotten. He was keeping a close eye on Sam, waiting for the other shoe to drop like it had in the year before Stanford, but this time he was going to be ready. He was convinced that Sam was not going to be given the chance to kill himself this time.

Sam was not stupid. He could tell Dean was watching him, and though it was irritating he knew he had brought it on himself.

"Could you at least pretend you aren't staring at me?" Sam bristled.

The two brothers' were at a bar, attempting to wrangle up some cash, and while Dean was maintaining his level headedness; Sam seemed to be trying to get as drunk as possible.

"I'm not staring, I'm just counting your drinks." Dean replied coolly, putting away his pool cue.

"Fuck off Dean, we got the money we need, now I would like to relax for a little while."

"Mhmmm..." Dean sounded. "How does alcohol mix with those meds of yours anyway?"

Sam snorted, and threw some cash down on the bar.

"Are you capable of understanding that some shit isn't your business?" Sam snarled, walking out of the bar.

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten before following Sam out into cold wind. He knew Sam was itching for a fight, and it was better for it to be his big brother then a drunk trucker.

Dean walked around the corner and watched as Sam lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the stagnant air of the city.

"I thought you gave this up…" Dean whispered.

Sam scoffed and took another drag.

"You also thought I gave up being sad… shows what you know."

"Jesus… I don't care that you are sad Sammy, I just don't want to see you… hurt yourself again…"

Sam eyed his brother coldly.

"You can't even say what it was can you? I tried to kill myself Dean. I was such a coward that I slit my wrists in the bathroom instead of dealing with my girly emotions. Is that what you are talking about?"

"Screw you Sam. Don't project your thoughts on me. I never thought any of that."

"I don't need you to carry my scars for me Dean. They are mine to bare."

"I know that… I know you aren't weak, I just want to help you…"

Sam laughed coldly, and Dean was surprised. He didn't remember Sam being this mean when he was sick before.

"Saint Dean." Sam said sarcastically. "Patron Saint of lost brothers."

"Hey!" Dean snapped grabbing a hold of Sam's arm. "You are not lost, you idiot. I am not going to lose you!"

Sam pulled back but Dean would not let go.

"You already did! You don't even know me!" Sam said, tears starting to gather in his eyes.

"Bullshit, I know you. You are my little brother; I raised you while Dad was halfway across the country hunting monsters! Look, I am sorry about Jessica, but I can't go back and save her for you, so I am gonna do the second best thing and keep you safe, I just need you to stop fighting me."

The two men were quiet, and eventually Sam crashed back against Dean's chest knocking them both to the ground of the dirty alley.

"De- I am so messed up." Sam sobbed.

"That's okay… just let in, don't fight it… we'll get through it together."

Sam felt the depression hitting him in waves, but somewhere the back of his mind, he felt better knowing Dean was by his side.

"I'm gonna find you some help… I promise." Dean whispered.

"What about Dad?" Sam asked.

Dean just pat Sam softly on the top of his head.

"Dad can wait kiddo, you first."


End file.
